Munchkin
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: Steve's cousin from Kansas comes to visit. Better than it sounds.
1. Chapter 1: The Letter

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DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

**A/N: I originally posted this over the summer, but I recently decided it was pretty weak and needed revising. The plot will be the same, though, dealing with the cousin Steve had in the book coming to visit. I set this story the summer before the novel begins. It may/may not be written from different POV's; I haven't decided yet. For now, it'll be told from Pony's perspective. Please read and review, but remember that flames will be used to set off firecrackers.**

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It was a typical day in June. School let out a couple of weeks ago. I was in the living room, home alone and bored out of my mind. Nothing was on TV except soap operas and I wasn't really in the mood to read. I wished there was a breeze or that it would suddenly start raining. It was scorching in the house on account of we can't afford an air conditioner; we just have to keep the windows open all the time. It doesn't help much. I haven't been able to leave the house for a few days because I twisted my ankle and Darry doesn't want me to walk on it. I wish I could lie in bed all day with the ceiling fan on, but Darry says I can't 'cause it'll run up the electric bill. He did promise me this morning he'd pick up a couple of boxes of Popsicles or a gallon of ice cream on his way home from work, though.

I glanced out the window and saw the mailman walking away from our mailbox. I decided to go get the mail; it _had_ to be cooler outside than it was in the house. Barefoot, I limped to the mailbox. I collected the heap of mail, then sat down on the porch steps to look through it: a sale flyer from the grocery store, a letter from the state for Darry, the phone bill, an offer to join one of those mail-order record clubs, and an issue of _National Geographic. _I was about to start reading that when I noticed another envelope. '_Steve Randle, c/o the Curtis Brothers' _read the handwriting on the front, which definitely belonged to a girl; it was postmarked Kansas and there was no name over the return address.

Why was a girl writing to Steve from Kansas? I thought about some of the bull sessions I'd overheard and wondered if Steve had gotten her "in trouble," like the overly-cheerful narrator said in this movie I had to watch in health class. I really wanted to rip open the envelope and find out who Steve's mystery woman was. I told myself I shouldn't; it's rude to read other people's mail. But Steve always acts like I'm a tagalong kid, so temptation started to get the better of me. I'd just slid a finger under the flap to rip the envelope when a quiet voice got my attention.

"Hey, Ponyboy."

I looked up and saw my best friend Johnny standing on our walk.

"Hey, Johnny," I greeted happily. I hadn't seen him since the day I got hurt. "You doin' all right?"

He shrugged, his eyes not quite meeting mine. He looked about as tired and hot as I felt. I moved the mail so Johnny could sit down on the steps. He did, then glanced at the envelope I was still holding. I quickly put it aside, not wanting him to know the letter was Steve's.

"Your ankle okay?" Johnny asked.

"I think so. I mean, it don't hurt as much," I said.

Johnny nodded. He pushed his sweaty bangs off his forehead.

"You wanna go inside?" I asked.

Johnny shrugged again. "Sure."

I gathered up all the mail and opened the screen door. Johnny followed me. He kicked off his sneakers at the front door while I dropped the mail on the kitchen table, everything except the _National Geographic _and Steve's letter. I don't know why I was hanging onto that thing, knowing how interested I was in opening it.

We walked down the short hallway and I pushed open the door to mine and Soda's room. The first thing I did was turn on the ceiling fan; surely it couldn't hurt to run it 'til Darry and Soda got home. Johnny kinda sighed with relief and flopped onto the floor. I set the magazine and letter on the nightstand and dug a pack of cards out of my desk. I sat Indian-style across from Johnny and dealt us each a hand. It was too warm to bet with cigarettes, like we usually did, so I pulled a jar of pennies from under my side of the bed.

We started playing poker. It wasn't long before Johnny was winning. I wasn't surprised; he was the best player in the gang. Him being so quiet meant he had a great poker face. He seemed like a different person when he played too, calmer and more confident.

"Whatcha got, Ponyboy?" he asked.

"Four sevens and a ten," I said, laying my hand on the carpet.

Johnny fanned out his cards. "Full house. Goodbye, my friend."

For some reason, as I handed him twenty cents, the thought of opening the letter struck me again.

"Let's finish our game in the living room," I suggested.

"Okay," agreed Johnny, gathering up the cards and putting the seventy-five cents he'd won in his pocket.

I turned off the ceiling fan. I wondered why I didn't hear any racket coming from the living room when I did. I checked the time on the alarm clock. 5:30. Darry and Soda had to be home by now...

Johnny and I walked out into the living room. Darry was stretched across on the couch, lying on his back with a wet washcloth draped across his forehead. Soda and Steve were in the kitchen, scraping ice off the inside of the freezer and sucking on the chips they collected.

"Darry?" I said quietly. He looked like he was asleep.

Darry kind of moaned in response.

"Soda, what's the matter with Darry?" I asked.

"I think the heat got to him a little," Soda explained.

The coolness I'd felt from being in our room with the fan on suddenly faded. I started to sweat. "Hey, Soda, can you get me and Johnny some of those ice chips?"

"Sure thing."

A couple minutes later, Soda came out of the kitchen. He gave a handful of ice to me and one to Johnny. I stuffed all of mine in my mouth at once. Soda handed Darry a glass with some ice scrapings in the bottom.

"Here. Maybe these'll make ya feel better." he said.

"I hope so, little buddy." Darry held the glass, but didn't take anything out of it. "Ugh, I feel pregnant," he groaned, rubbing his belly.

"Who gotcha in trouble, Darry?" asked Steve.

If Darry hadn't been so worn out and feeling sick, I bet he probably would've knocked Steve through the wall.

"Did you remember to get the Popsicles?" I wanted to know.

"If he did, ya think we'd be eatin' these?" Steve said rudely.

"It was just a question," I said.

"Yeah, a dumb one."

"Knock it off," Darry ordered. "I don't feel good and this ain't helpin'."

"But, Darry, you promised us a box," I said.

"No, I didn't. I said I'd try to get some," said Darry. "I would've on my way home, but I worked all day and it was almost a hundred degrees. I got so dizzy I almost wrecked the truck."

"I'm sorry." I felt bad for not realizing that.

Soda came out of the kitchen, looking through the mail. Now was my chance.

"Hey, Steve?" I said.

"What?" he replied irritably through another mouthful of ice.

"You got a letter today." I told him.

I walked to our room to get it. I handed it to him. He frowned at it. After a minute or two, he opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. He unfolded it. I watched his hazel eyes going back and forth as he read. He suddenly swore loudly and dropped the letter on the floor. He paced across the living room. I made sure he wasn't looking before I picked it up.

_'Dear Steve_,' the letter read_. 'I'm not really sure if you remember me_...' Glory_, _that didn't sound good at all. _'My name is Glenda Dorothy Kostecki and I'm your cousin. I apologize for not visiting since junior high. Dad got laid off for a while and money was pretty tight. Now he's working for the electric company. Mom got a job too; she's a secretary at my old junior high. Anyway, between help from them and what I saved waitressing part-time, I got enough money together to visit you and the gang for a few days. I'll be coming in on Friday the 21st and leaving late Sunday night or early Monday morning. The bus should drop me off around 2:00. I can't wait to see everyone. Love from your cousin, Glenda_.'

"Calm down!" I heard Soda telling Steve. "What's the matter with you?"

"My cousin's comin' to visit this weekend!" he shouted.

"You mean the one who was sweet on Dally?" Soda asked.

I definitely remembered Glenda now. Her last visit, she followed Dallas around like a puppy, giggling at just about everything he said and complimenting him a lot. I was in fifth grade then and wondered why she acted so funny around him. Soda explained to me that she wanted Dally to be her boyfriend and I thought it was gross.

"She's comin' the same night we race those guys from Brumley!" Steve's voice jerked me back to the present.

"We could take her with us," Soda suggested. "It'd be fun."

Steve appeared to settle down; Soda was good at calming people (animals too, come to think of it).

"I guess so," he mumbled, not sounding too wild about the idea.

My thoughts traveled back to Glenda. I wondered what she looked like now and whether she still had her old feelings for Dallas. If she did, it could turn out to be a pretty interesting weekend.


	2. Chapter 2: Johnny's Idea

**A/N: Thanks to those who've reviewed/favorited my story so far. You guys rock! Keep the feedback coming so I know if I'm doing a good job and what I could improve on.**

Soda looked real excited; he practically started bouncing off the walls. I guess he figured Glenda visiting for the weekend would be almost like having another Steve around and the three of them could raise all sorts of Cain together. He ducked into the kitchen and started rummaging noisily through the cabinets. He stuck his head around the doorway, cradling a loaf of bread like a baby and balancing a jar of grape jelly and one of peanut butter.

"Anybody want a sandwich?" he asked. "It's 'bout dinnertime 'n it's too hot to cook."

"Pass," said Darry.

"Nah, I'm all right," Johnny said quietly.

"Ditto," said Steve.

I just shook my head.

We probably should've taken him up on his offer. Soda gets creative when he cooks and sandwiches are about the only thing he makes the normal way. But when it's too hot cook, it's usually too hot to be hungry. Unless, of course, you're Soda. He sat down with the bread, jelly, and peanut butter and made his sandwich right there in the living room. After he got done eating the first sandwich, he used up the rest of the peanut butter making another one. He ate the second sandwich, then put his shoes back on.

"Well, I'm gonna run down to the supermarket 'fore they close and buy some more peanut butter," he said. He glanced at Darry. "You feelin' any better, Superman?"

Darry peeled the wet cloth off his forehead. "I'm cooler now, but I still feel sick as a dog."

"Want me to get 7-Up?" asked Soda. That's what Mom always used to give us when we got sick to our stomachs.

"Yeah, little buddy, thanks."

After Soda left, Darry asked if one of us could turn on the TV. I did and the first thing I saw was a baseball game. Darry doesn't like baseball nearly as much as football, but since there wasn't much else on, that'd have to do. I got bored after about ten minutes, so did Steve. He picked up Glenda's letter again and toyed with it.

"Tell ya one thing," he said, sort of to himself and sort of to Darry. "I ain't itchin' to tell my old man she's on her way. It'll end up my fault somehow that she even wanted to come, like I invited her just to piss him off. He hates her."

"How come?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"It's my old man, don't need a reason," he replied.

Soda came in the front door a minute or so later, carrying a paper grocery bag. He reached in, pulled out a bottle of 7-Up, popped the cap off, and handed it to Darry. Darry gingerly took a few sips. Then, being the protective older brother and legal guardian he is, he asked something I'd been wondering about since I saw the letter: "So, Steve, do you know where Glenda's gonna stay when she gets here?"

Steve quickly re-read the letter. "Nope, doesn't say. I know it sure as hell won't be at my house."

"Well, I don't think she'd like sleeping in the lot. You better call her and figure out someplace she can stay," Darry suggested.

"Can't afford to. Besides, I don't even remember her phone number."

"I really wouldn't mind having her here, but we just don't have any extra space," Darry said gloomily.

Darry didn't say so, but I reckoned we couldn't afford it either.

"Glory, I hope she don't hafta stay at Buck's," I said, shuddering a little at the thought.

"Yeah, imagine if her and Dally ran into each other," added Steve, chuckling. I guess he remembered Glenda being smitten with him too.

Johnny spoke up. "Nah, Dal wouldn't bother her."

We looked at each other. Everyone knew the odds of Dallas not "bothering" a girl were slim to none, but we didn't have the heart to tell Johnny. He thought the world of Dallas.

"I bet he'd even look out for her if I asked him to," he went on.

When Johnny put it that way, it actually seemed pretty likely. Dally would never admit it, but he cares about Johnny a lot; they treat each other like the brothers they've never had.

"Wouldn't hurt to try," agreed Soda.

I still didn't think it was too hot of an idea. But again, if anyone could make it happen, it was Johnny.


	3. Chapter 3: Talking to Dally

**A/N: Apologies for the delayed update. It's been crazy with Christmas shopping and finals and everything. I hope people are still interested in this. As always, read and review!**

(Johnny's POV)

Steve and I ended up spending the night at Pony's, me on the couch and Steve in Darry's chair. When I woke up, Steve was in the kitchen, eatin' Cheerios right out of the box. I slipped into the bathroom to put some grease on my hair. It didn't really keep my hair back too good, but it made me look tuff. I looked at myself in the mirror for a minute, wonderin' if I'd ever get used to how I looked with that scar. Dally thinks I will and I might even be proud of it someday, the way Tim is about the scar he got from a tramp smashing a pop bottle on his face. But I ain't like Tim.

"Hey, Johnny!" Steve's voice called as I stepped out of the bathroom. "Come 'ere!"

I stuck my head around the kitchen doorway. Steve was sitting at the table. Darry was up too, putting a couple pieces of bread in the toaster.

"Want a bowl?" Steve asked, one hand still in the Cheerios box.

I shook my head.

"You didn't eat supper last night," Darry reminded me.

I knew that. I just wasn't real hungry. I can't eat too much when it's hot or I get sick.

"I could make ya eggs or somethin'," Darry offered.

"No, thanks," I said. "I think I'm gonna go look for Dally." I needed to talk to him about Glenda.

"Johnny, you gotta eat somethin'," Darry's voice was a little firmer.

"Yeah, you ain't lookin' too good," Steve added through a mouthful of Cheerios.

I didn't think I looked any better or worse than normal when I looked in the mirror.

The bread popped out of the toaster. Darry left one piece plain and put peanut butter on the other. He put the toast together like a sandwich and held it out to me.

"At least take this with you, okay?" he said.

"Okay. Thanks, Darry."

I took it from him and left the house. I walked through the neighborhood, wondering which way to go after that.

A sudden noise from behind me made me stop dead in my tracks. A car engine, sounded like it was movin' pretty slow. Socs drove like that when they were lookin' for Greasers to jump. My heart started pounding something fierce and shivers went down my spine; all I could think of was those guys in that blue Mustang. I glanced over my shoulder, ready to run or pull my switch if I needed to. It wasn't a Mustang or any kind of Socy car at all, just a beat-up station wagon with a man driving and two little kids in the backseat. I let out a shaky breath.

I wish I'd woken Pony up before I left or asked Darry or Soda to come with me. I hate walking by myself anymore. Socs are lot less shy about coming into Greaser territory these days. I have a feeling we're gonna have a war with 'em soon. I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts. I had to concentrate on watching my back and finding Dally.

_'If I was Dally, where would I be right now?' _I asked myself. '_Asleep_' was the best answer I could come up with. Glory, that meant he could be a lot of places. I decided it'd make sense to look in town first; the other places he usually crashes are kinda outta the way.

When I got to town, the first place I checked was the corner of Picket and Sutton; he likes to hang around there and smoke. But no Dally. I walked into the alley behind the drug store. Almost everybody in the gang's found Dally sleeping (or passed out) there at least once. He wasn't there this morning, just some bum. He looked hungry, so I gave him the peanut butter sandwich. Then I checked behind the drug store and the record store too, but I still didn't find Dallas. I thought about going to the police station to ask the fuzz if they'd picked him up for something, but I'm scared to death of cops.

It started to get hot as I headed back out to the main sidewalk. I hoped Dally wasn't at Buck's 'cause that's a lot farther than I'd care to walk. I remembered Dally saying something yesterday about Buck having an ornery new horse that needed to be broke and Buck offering him 20 bucks if Dal could do the job. I didn't feel like trying to hitch a ride all the way to the Slash J, so I turned to go back toward the neighborhood. I could always talk to Dal later.

"Hey, kid!" A voice from across the street got my attention.

I saw Buck Merrill coming out of the liquor store with a couple cases of beer and a paper bag that had whiskey bottles sticking out of the top. Restocking for his next party, I guess. He waved me over. I crossed the street.

"You lookin' for Dally?" Buck asked.

I nodded. Buck spit on the ground.

"Well, hop in the truck. I'll take ya up to 'im."

I hesitated. Buck's pick-up was hardly in any better shape than Two-Bit's car, but it beat walking or hitching. I opened the passenger door; it squeaked real loud and got stuck when I tried to close it again. The cab of the truck reeked of old cigarettes and spilled booze. Buck's not much of a talker and neither am I, so the ride to Slash J was completely quiet, except for the corny country music on the radio.

About half an hour later, we crunched up the gravel driveway to the ranch. Buck parked near the barn and I hopped out.

"Thanks for the lift, man," I said.

Buck looked at me funny. "You can talk?" He sounded real surprised.

"Look, can you tell me where Dal is? It's important," I said.

"He's in the corral out back," Buck replied, still looking at me weird.

I went around the side of the barn and found the corral without much trouble. A big black horse was running around inside the fence, kicking and jumping for all it was worth. Dally was nearby, stretched out under a half dried-up shade tree. He almost didn't look like himself in cowboy boots and a work shirt. He was even wearing a cowboy hat, pulled low over his eyes like Soda used to wear his. Dally was tossing an apple up in the air, then catching it.

"Hey, Johnnycake," he greeted.

"Hey, Dallas," I said. "How are ya?"

Dally shrugged. "I been better."

He caught the apple again, dusted it off on his shirt, and took a bite.

"Ain't that s'posed to be for the horse?" I asked.

Almost as soon as I said that, the horse trotted over. It stood close to the fence and stuck its neck out, dying to get that apple.

"He don't deserve it," Dally said through his mouthful. He showed me the bruises and scrapes on his arms.

"Dal, can I...can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure, kid."

"Well, ya see, Steve's cousin is comin' to town this weekend," I started. "Steve's dad don't want her to stay with him and she can't stay with Darry. And--"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," said Dally. "Steve's got a cousin?"

"Yeah, from Kansas. Anyways, she might end up havin' to rent a room at Buck's if she can't find somewhere else to stay." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I know it's kinda rough there and all, so I was hopin' you might, y'know, look out for her or something."

"Yeah, I can do that," Dally nodded. "What's her name again?"

"Glenda."

"Kinda rings a bell." Dally thought for a second. "She the short little broad that had the hots for me?"

"Yeah."

He grinned. "Think she still does?"

"I dunno," I said.

Dally tossed his apple core into corral and settled back against the tree. "Guess we'll find out."


	4. Chapter 4: Cokes and Combs

**A/N: Happy 2009! (throws confetti) As always, read and review!**

(Two-Bit's POV)

I got up bright and early 'bout 11:30, hopped in my car, and drove down to the DX. As usual, Soda was by the gas pumps, talking to a bunch of girls. I parked, then went inside to annoy the hell out of Steve--I mean, get some smokes. He looked so lonely, standing at the counter all by his lonesome. I put on my most winning smile to cheer him up.

"So today's the big day, huh, Steve?" I said.

"Yeah, we're gonna stomp those guys from Brumley but good tonight!" Steve said loudly. "I got White Lightning primed and ready. She's gonna run like a dream." He started blabbing on and on about the car and what all he did to it. I didn't understand a word; it was like he was speaking another language.

I slipped a couple candy bars into my jeans pockets while I listened.

"Hey, you better put those back." Steve ordered, snapping suddenly out of car mode.

I replaced the candy on the rack. "Just checkin' to see if you were payin' attention." I said. The DX is the one place I don't steal from; I'd never be able to forgive myself if Steve or Soda lost their job 'cause of my little habit. "You have any Kools?"

"Sure do." He tossed me a pack and started ringing them up. "Hey, you mind doin' somethin' for me later?" he asked.

"Depends on what it is," I said. "I ain't gonna work and ruin my rep."

"You just gotta pick my cousin up from the bus station." said Steve. "Damn manager won't let me go on lunch later to do it."

"Yeah," I agreed, paying for my cigarettes. "What time's she supposed to fall outta the sky?" I laughed at my own joke.

"Think she said 2:00." Steve opened the register, put my money in, and shoved the drawer back in place. He reached into his shirt pocket. "Oh yeah, you might need this." He held out a folded piece of paper.

"What's that?" I asked as I took it from him.

"It's her picture, dumbass," snapped Steve. "Came with her letter."

He sure is moody today. Must be his time of the month. I tucked the picture in my back pocket.

"Don't you worry about a thing, Stevie. She'll be in good hands." I promised.

"Uh-huh," Steve grunted.

I gave him a cheery wave before I left the store. I got back in my car and pulled away from the DX. If Glenda's bus was comin' at 2:00, I figured I had 'til at least 2:30. In this part of town, the city buses are usually about 10 minutes late and the Greyhounds show up whenever they feel like it. I figured I'd goof around in town to help kill time.

I got a Coke at the Tastee Freeze. It didn't really cool me off, so I found a shady place to park and take a nap in my car. When I woke up, I drove out to the discount store, Spencer's Special. I wandered around there, eyeing things that were lying out in the open. I took my sweet time in every department, snacking on some chips I picked up in one of the aisles.  
I also checked out their new novelty section. Glory, did they have some wild stuff: wax lips, rubber chickens, whoopee cushions, X-ray goggles, combs that looked like switchblades, and those pens that write in three different colors. 'Cause I was bored, I decided to take a little somethin' for Glenda as a welcome-to-Tulsa present. Since most girls I know are always foolin' around with their hair, I picked up a switchblade comb and stuffed it in my pocket. If she's anything like Steve, I bet she'll like it.

On my way out of the store, I passed a display of alarm clocks. 2:15. I'd been hanging around there longer than I thought. I headed out to the parking lot. I might be able to beat the bus to the station if I hurried. I drove into downtown, where the bus station is, and pulled over on the side of the road. There were a bunch of people already standin' around by the bus shelter when I pulled up.

I took Glenda's photo out of my pocket and unfolded it. The picture showed her sitting on a concrete porch, playing with a puppy. Glenda looked an awful lot like Steve: skinny, curly hair, same ears, nose, and eyes. There were differences, though, Glenda bein' a girl for one. Her jaw wasn't as square and her hair wasn't greasy. She had pouty lips, kinda like Marilyn Monroe. And of course, she was a hell of a lot better-lookin' than Steve...not really a knockout, but cute.

I glanced from the photo to the crowd near the shelter. I saw a girl with curly brown hair that reached her shoulders boppin' around on her tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of some guys in Army uniforms. She had an old suitcase in one hand. I noticed the movie-star mouth and figured it was Glenda. I folded up the picture again and set it on my dashboard. I got out of my car, hitched my thumbs in the belt-loops of my jeans, and coolly strolled toward her.

"Oh, Glenda!" I called. "Glenda!"


	5. Chapter 5: Welcome Wagon

(Glenda's POV)

I stood under the wooden bus shelter, fanning myself with my hand, hoping somebody was coming to pick me up. I hadn't heard from Steve and he had to have gotten my letter by now...unless it got lost in the mail. Couldn't rule out that lovely possibility. If worse came to worse, I had change for a pay phone. I could call Mom and ask her for my uncle's address.

I smoothed out my mint-green checkered sleeveless blouse, which was a little wrinkled from the six-hour bus ride. The rest of my outfit consisted of denim capris and scuffed white sneakers with no socks. I tightened my grip on my suitcase handle, scanning the horizon for any sign of Steve.

"Glenda the Good Witch!" A loud, cheerful male voice shouted from behind me.

A mixture of apprehension and annoyance filled me. I'm only seventeen, but I've already heard enough _Wizard of Oz _jokes to last me a lifetime. The voice hadn't sounded the way I remembered Steve's. I knew it had changed in the five years since we'd seen each other, but he never sounded that happy. I turned around, wondering who this guy was and how he knew my name. I came face-to-face with a boy a few heads taller than me. His brown hair was styled almost like Elvis Presley's, complete with long sideburns. He was grinning and his gray eyes seemed to sparkle. He was wearing an orange Mickey Mouse T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, tight jeans, and cowboy boots.

"Howdy," he greeted.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Two-Bit Mathews. I'm a friend of your cousin's," the boy replied.

I thought back to that summer in seventh grade and it came to me: The same guy, but younger and in different clothes, had called me Munchkin the whole time I was in town. "Oh, I remember you now," I finished aloud.

"Remember? How could ya forget?" He looked slightly stunned.

I shrugged.

Two-Bit recovered quickly and extracted a long, thin box from his pocket. "Before I forget. Here, I swiped ya a gift."

I removed the lid from the box. Gleaming inside was a black-handled switchblade. Had things gotten so rough in Tulsa that I needed to be armed? I wondered.

"Don't be shy, try it out," Two-Bit encouraged.

Hesitantly, I pressed the button. There was a soft _'snick' _sound; less than a second later, out popped...a metal comb?

Two-Bit grinned proudly. "Fixes your hair _and _helps with a bluff."

"Thanks, Two-Bit," I said. It really was kind of cool. I folded it up and slid it into my back pocket. "Listen, I don't wanna seem rude or anything, but what happened to Steve?" I wanted to know.

"He couldn't get off work early, so he sent me up here," Two-Bit explained. He reached for my suitcase. "Here, let me take that."

"Thanks," I said, handing it over.

"Don't mention it. I figure you must be tired after that long trip from Oz." He tipped an imaginary hat and changed his voice to an imitation of a British accent, "Your transportation awaits." He gestured grandly to an old black Plymouth parked on the roadside.

We walked the short distance to the car. Two-Bit got in the driver's seat and tossed my suitcase in the backseat; I climbed in the passenger side. Two-Bit stuck his key in the ignition and started the car. He passed me a folded piece of paper that had been sitting on the dashboard. I saw my own handwriting and knew it was the picture I'd sent Steve. Must be how Two-Bit picked me out of the crowd.

"So how come you didn't bring Toto along?" he asked as we drove away.

I felt my cheek twitch involuntarily, as it often does when I'm irritated. "Ran off right before the last tornado," I grumbled.

Two-Bit chuckled. "Munchkin, you're a sharp one. But really, where's Toto?"

"You mean Plato?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Lordy, don't tell me you read all them boring dead guys like Ponyboy."

I shook my head. "I found him on my way home from a showing of _Rebel Without a Cause._"

That's one of my all-time favorite movies. Not just because James Dean and Sal Mineo look so dreamy in it, either. The story and the acting are also terrific; the last couple of scenes always make me cry.

Two-Bit frowned. "Ain't Plato the one who got in trouble for killin' dogs or somethin'?"

"Yeah. But see..." I tapped one of my fingers against the doorsill, trying to think of how to illustrate my choice of names.

"I guess it's a little hard to answer a question like that, huh?" said Two-Bit. "Names are complicated...well, some ain't, like how come I call you Munchkin. But that's just a nickname. First names are almost always odd. Why'd my mama name me Keith or yours pick Glenda? Better yet, Dallas is from New York, so how the hell'd his parents land on that name?"

"I wonder about that one myself," I admitted. "I'd ask, but I'm not even sure he knows."

"Anyway, back to what you were sayin' about your dog?" Two-Bit prompted.

"I was on my way home from the movie and I saw this puppy in the gutter," I said. "He looked like he could use a friend and..." I shrugged. "I don't know. Plato just seemed to suit him."

"Tuff enough," said Two-Bit. "He's a good-lookin' pup."

Two-Bit stopped the car. I looked out the window and saw we were parked outside a DX station. Two lean guys were working on this old coupe. I recognized one, whose hair was combed back in swirls. It was Steve.

"Thanks for the ride, Two-Bit," I said, retrieving my suitcase from the backseat.

"Anytime, Munchkin," he said. "I'll see you later."

I got out of the car and waved as he drove off. I walked to the coupe and tapped Steve on the shoulder. He turned.

"Hi, Glenda," he greeted.

I gave Steve a kiss on the cheek and a hug. He stiffened slightly; he's never been a real affectionate guy. I could tell he was happy to see me, though, by the way his mouth turned up a little at the corners.

"You, uh, you remember Soda?" He pointed to the other guy.

Vaguely. I nodded. Soda grinned wildly.

"It sure is nice to see ya again, Glenda. How'd you like to come to a drag race with us and Johnny tonight?"

"Sure," I agreed enthusiastically. I'd been to a few back home; Kansas is heaven for racing 'cause it's so flat.

"Hey, Steve, since it's payday, maybe we could all get a burger before the race." Soda suggested.

"Sounds great," I said, suddenly remembering I hadn't eaten all day.

"Ya like our racer?" asked Soda, gesturing to the coupe. "We call 'er White Lightning."

I didn't answer. The coupe was dented and scratched; it definitely had seen better days.

"I know she ain't pretty," Soda went on, "but she runs like a stallion."

Steve got me a Pepsi from the machine. I accepted it gratefully. I stood drinking it, watching them work on the cars. A few hours had probably gone by when a heavyset man came out of the DX. He was holding an envelope in each hand. He passed one to Soda and was about to hand the other one to Steve when he spotted me.

"What'd I tell you about your girl bein' here when you're supposed to be workin'?" the man said sternly.

"She's my cousin," Steve explained. "She just got in from Kansas."

"I see. Well, she can't stay here her whole visit, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Steve replied.

"Good. I'll see you boys tomorrow."

"G'night, Mr. Roman," Steve and Soda said in unison.

Once he was gone, they stripped off their DX caps and shirts, revealing white T-shirts underneath. They tossed those in the back of the coupe and shoved my suitcase in the trunk. I untucked my blouse, undid some of the buttons, pulled the loose ends up high, and tied them in a knot. I usually wore belly-baring shirts to the races in Kansas, especially when I went to motorcycle races to watch my best friend Mutt compete. He's an absolute doll, but Mom thinks he's too old for me. I don't think it's fair. Mutt's only nineteen and Dad was twenty-one when he married Mom, who was my age at the time.

I looked up and saw a boy approaching us. Like Soda and Steve, he was clad in jeans and a T-shirt, only this boy's shirt was black. He was barely taller than me, slightly built, and had tanned skin. Black bangs flopped into his large brown eyes; I could see a scar running across one side of his face. He stopped a couple of feet away from us.

"Hey, Johnnycake," Soda greeted.

"Hi," Johnny mumbled in reply.

"Hi, Johnny. I'm Glenda," I said.

"Hey," he said just as quietly.

"You excited about the race?" Soda asked him.

Johnny nodded. I didn't think he looked excited. Maybe he was just shy or something.

"You wanna get somethin' to eat?" Steve asked.

He nodded again.

"All right then. Let's go," said Soda.

We got into the coupe with Johnny and I in the backseat, Steve in the passenger seat, and Soda driving.

"You better hang onto somethin'," Steve advised me as Soda pulled out to the road.


	6. Chapter 6: Dinner at the Dingo

A/N: Sorry for yet another delay. I don't own any songs mentioned in the chapter. Hope you enjoy; please read and review!

* * *

(Soda's POV)

"Okay," Glenda said slowly. "But why--" She never finished the question, just kinda screamed as I put my foot down on the gas.

We needed to get White Lightning warmed up for the race. The engine roared as we zoomed down the road. I looked over my shoulder into the backseat. The breeze was whipping Glenda's hair around somethin' fierce. She was gripping onto the top of the door and her eyes were round; I hoped I wasn't scaring her. Next to her, Johnny was smiling, something I wish he would do more often. I smiled back at him. I checked to make sure the fuzz weren't on the road tonight before pushing the speed limit any further. Darry'll kill me if I get another speeding ticket. Come to think of it, I don't want one either; those suckers are expensive.

"So where we goin'?" asked Steve. "The Dingo?"

"I don't know about that," I said.

Steve pointed a thumb toward the backseat. "Is it her you're worried about?"

"Yeah," I said. "The Dingo's almost as rough as Buck's. Ain't too long ago that girl got shot in the parking lot."

"Well, it ain't like she's gonna be alone."

I bit my lip. Steve was right about that, but I still didn't think it was too hot of an idea. It'd be safer to take her to Jay's or The Pines.

"Come on," begged Steve. "The Dingo's got the best burgers in town." He turned a little in his seat. "Ain't that right, Johnny?"

"Huh?" Johnny called over the noise of the engine.

Steve turned back around. "See? He says so too. Now hurry up 'n change lanes 'fore you miss the turn."

I knew I should just turn around and head somewhere else, but Steve's my best buddy and he knows my biggest weakness--food. I turned the wheel a little to the right so I could get over. I saw The Dingo's beat-up wooden sign up ahead and started turn into the dirt parking lot. I must've hit the brakes too hard or cranked the wheel too sharp or both, 'cause I heard Glenda yell. I slowed down to a crawl, lookin' around for somewhere to park. The Dingo was always packed on Friday nights; sometimes, you'd have to brawl for a spot.

"I think we can fit over by the sign," said Steve.

I drove in the direction he was pointing. It was a pretty tight squeeze, but we made it somehow. I shut the engine off. Glancing in the mirror, I saw Glenda looked kinda shaky. I knelt on the seat, resting my arms on top of it.

"Listen, I'm awful sorry I scared ya," I said. "You know I didn't mean to."

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine." She sat up a little straighter and gave her hair a toss, like she was trying to prove it.

A waitress walked past our car, carrying a tray of food. The smell of it made my stomach growl like crazy. I'm gonna order at least 3 burgers and a big basket of fries...and a chocolate milkshake too if I have enough money left over.

I knew it'd be easier on the waitress if just one person ordered for the whole car, so I tried to get our order together while we waited. Steve liked burgers too but not milkshakes (personally, I think hating milkshakes is crazy). Johnny wouldn't speak up unless he had to, but he wasn't too picky, so ordering for him was easy. I was about to ask Glenda what she wanted when another waitress came up to my door; it was Kathy, one of Two-Bit's favorite blonds.

"What can I get for you?" she asked, pulling her pencil out from behind her ear.

"Let's see..." I did some quick figuring in my head. "6 cheeseburgers with everything, 3 orders of fries, 3 Cokes, and... Uh, Glenda, what do you wanna eat?"

"I'll have a cheeseburger, no onions or ketchup, fries, and a 7-Up," she told Kathy.

"Okay, that's 2.13," said Kathy.

You have to pay in advance at The Dingo. I think it's supposed to make it harder for some of the hoods that eat there from runnin' out on the bill. I handed Kathy enough money to pay for me and Johnny. Steve didn't even offer to pay for Glenda. I thought it was rude what with them bein' cousins and all. Glenda must've too 'cause she looked daggers at him as she passed Kathy some change. I knew Steve didn't mean nothin' by it; he's always kinda tense before a rumble or a race and don't always remember his manners.

"I'll be right back," said Kathy, dropping the money into her apron.

She walked away, headed toward the kitchen building. I moved around 'til I was sitting almost sideways, which would make it easier to talk to Glenda; if I was lucky, I might even get a word or two out of Johnny. She looked up from the change she'd been counting.

"Is there a pay phone here?" she asked.

"No," Steve said from the front.

"Well, does the place I'm staying have one? I need to call home and tell my parents I got here all right."

"There's _a _phone, but good luck usin' it," said Steve.

Now Glenda looked confused. "What kind of motel doesn't have a phone that works?"

"See, we know this guy named Buck. He has this place and it's like a road house, but there's rooms upstairs," I explained.

"And it's rough as hell," added Steve. "Even worse 'n this place." He jerked his head toward a couple guys fighting across the parking lot.

Glenda's eyes got wide again.

"D-Don't worry about it," Johnny's voice was so low you could hardly hear him. "Dal's, uh...he's--he'll protect you. He--he promised."

"Dallas?" said Glenda. "As in Winston?" We all nodded. "Surprised he's still here. He never seemed the type to stay put for long."

Nobody really had an answer for that. A couple more minutes went by and there was quiet in that car like you wouldn't believe. I don't like things too quiet, so I flipped on the radio. Some song by Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons was playing.

Steve groaned. "That guy gives me a headache. He sings like a broad."

"All right, all right, I'll see what else is on," I said.

I twiddled the dial and there really _was _a broad singing on the next station. '_Please, Mr. Jailer, won't you let my man go free?' _

"Can you leave it there?" asked Glenda. "I love this song."

"Sure."

She sang along to the rest of it, had a pretty good voice. Right about the time the next song started on the radio, Kathy was standing by my door again, balancing a heavy tray. She passed around the fries and drinks. I reached for the burgers, but she pulled the tray back a little.

"Just a second," she said. "Lemme find the special order." She looked over the pile on the tray. "Oh, here it is."

"Thanks," said Glenda.

Kathy handed out the rest. "Y'all tell me if you want somethin' else," she said before leaving.

"You know we will," said Glenda, her mouth already full.

"You sure you can finish that?" Steve teased.

She swallowed and took another big bite of her cheeseburger. "Might even need another one. I didn't eat since last night."

We got quiet again until we finished some of our food. Steve and I started talking about tonight's race and Glenda told us about her friend Mutt back in Kansas who races motorcycles. The sky was almost dark when I crumpled up my third and last cheeseburger wrapper. I felt a lot better, even though my jeans were fittin' a little too tight around my belly.

"You get enough to eat back there, Glenda?" I asked.

"Yeah," she answered. Her eyes were closed.

"Good 'cause we gotta head to the race now," said Steve. "Lemme drive, Soda."

I handed over the keys. We take turns with White Lightning, but she is definitely his.


	7. Chapter 7: Night at the Races

(Steve's POV)

I steered White Lightning out of The Dingo's parking lot and got back on the main road. I drove a lot slower than Soda 'cause we all just ate and the last thing I wanted was Glenda puking her guts out all over my backseat. We bumped over the railroad tracks, then I turned onto a dirt road that goes through the woods. I followed it 'til we got to the river bottom. Five or six hot rods were sitting there, along with fifteen or so greasers, most from Brumly and a few from Sheperd's outfit. A couple guys had their girls with them.

"All right," I said, shutting off the engine. "Everybody out."

Drag races work kinda like rumbles; the first thing you gotta do is look around and size up your competition. Then challenges get made and the fireworks really start. I lit up a cigarette and inspected the other cars. I knew we could take the Buick, the Plymouth Fury looked like it could give us a run for our money...hard to tell about the Pontiac...

"Hey! Randle!" one of Sheperd's guys called as he walked up to me. "Got a light?"

I tossed him a pack of matches. When he lit up, we got an eyeful; he had some pretty nasty scars all over his face. I heard Glenda gasp.

"Hey, be cool, will ya?" I dropped my cigarette in the dirt and ground it out with my shoe. "Jesus," I muttered.

The guy checked White Lightning out. "It looks like hell. What're you runnin' under there?"

"Brand-new engine, four-barrel carbs," I told him proudly.

The second guy looked Glenda up and down and wolf-whistled. "Better question is: What's _she _got runnin' under there?"

Both of them laughed. Glenda's cheek twitched and her eyes got narrow, but she didn't say anything. The guy with the scars saw Johnny happened to be standing next to her, and asked, "This your girl?"

"Huh?" Johnny's voice squeaked.

"I said your girlfriend's cute, Cade," said the one with all the scars. "Looks like she puts out too."

I felt the back of my neck getting hot. I grabbed Crater-Face by his T-shirt. "You say anything else about my cousin and I'll kick your ugly ass." I said, my teeth gritted.

A guy almost as big as Darry saw what was happening. He pulled me and Crater-Face apart. "Knock it off." he said. "Come on, Randle, you and me."

I didn't ask him to name his stakes. Most times there's nothing on the line but pride. We're poor so we can't race for money or beer too often. And never for pinks.

I jumped in the driver's seat of White Lightning. Soda got in beside me. A lot of guys just race by themselves, but it's smarter to have somebody with you. They can warn you if there's a slick spot on the course or if somebody tries to pull a dirty trick like ramming your car. Plus, the car handles better when all the weight isn't on one side.

"Good luck," said Glenda as I fired up the engine.

She and Johnny hurried to stand on the bank and watch. Somebody yelled "On your mark...get set...go!" I planted my foot down on the gas hard; White Lightning took off like a bat out of hell. The other guy's Plymouth Fury was almost even with us.

"Come on, baby," I muttered under my breath.

I shifted a few gears and White Lightning's engine roared. The Fury dropped back further and further. By then, my heart was going about as fast as the car; my knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel. Just a few more feet to the old tree that served as our finish line. We passed it first, the Fury zipped by a minute later.

Me and Soda started hollering and cheering. I climbed up on the trunk, jumped off, somersaulted in mid-air, and then landed on my feet. Some of the people who'd been watching ran toward us, including Glenda and Johnny. Glenda was screaming, hopping up and down, and generally acting kinda nuts. I really wonder about girls sometimes. Johnny wasn't dancing or anything, but I could tell he was happy. The other guys shook my hand and patted me on the back; a couple of 'em challenged me.

We stayed at the river bottom for a long time. We watched some races. When White Lightning was called out, Soda and I took turns driving. We won a few races, lost a couple. Even made a few bucks off beating the guy in the Buick. After a while, things wound down, people started getting in their cars and leaving.

"Well, let's head on out," I said. It was pretty late and I knew I better get Soda home before Darry had a fit.

We all got in the car, me driving. We were almost back on the main road when I realized I hadn't heard a peep outta Glenda for a while. I thought it was weird 'cause if there's one thing she ain't, it's quiet. I heard Soda chuckling about something, then he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Check the backseat," he said.

I took a real quick look. Glenda was sleeping, her head on Johnny's shoulder, and his eyes were closed too. I laughed quietly. As far as I knew, this was the closest Johnny had ever been to a girl. I had to take Glenda over to Buck's, so I decided to drop Soda off at our neighborhood first; he ain't supposed to go anywhere near Buck's place. I pulled up by his house and he got out.

"Johnnycake," Soda said in a low voice.

Johnny opened his eyes. "Huh?"

"You gonna spend the night?"

"Yeah," he replied in a tired voice. He glanced to his left and saw Glenda. "But I don't wanna wake her up."

"Don't worry about that, Johnny," I said. "You can ride over to Buck's with us, then I'll bring ya back here."

He nodded. "All right."

"See ya in a lil' bit, Johnny," said Soda, going inside.


	8. Chapter 8: Buck's

(Dallas's POV)

It was just another night at Buck's with plenty of booze, broads, and shitty country music. There was this weird thumping sound too; I bet Buck finally blew out those cheap speakers he picked up about the same time he got that black horse. You know, the mean son of a bitch he wants me to break for him. Buck walked out from behind the bar and into the hall. About a minute after that, the thumping just stopped. Glad it did 'cause it was annoying as hell.

I finished off my beer and got up from the bar to ask Buck for another. I started shoving my way through all the people standing everywhere. A few of 'em gave me dirty looks, but they knew better than to start somethin' with me. I spotted Buck over by the front door, hollering at someone on the porch.

"I done told you once that this ain't no boardin' house! Go on, get the hell outta here!"

"What's goin' on?" I asked, walking over to him.

He jabbed his thumb at the porch. I saw a broad standing there with a big ol' suitcase. She had this curly hair, wasn't too big or too little on top, a flat belly, and wide hips. She had a look in her eyes somewhere between sad and worried and just plain pissed.

"Look, is Dallas Winston around? Can I talk to him?" the chick asked.

"Yeah, dollface, I'm right here." She looked kinda familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

"I'm Glenda." No way. No way she's the mousy little broad I remember.

"Oh yeah?" I said. She nodded. "Yeah, Steve said you'd be stoppin' by. Let her in, Merril, she's with me."

Buck moved out of the doorway and went back to tend the bar. Glenda stuck close behind me as I started pushing my way back through the crowd. We got to the bar and I waved Buck over.

"Gimme another beer," I said. "Glenda, can I interest you in a cold drink?"

She shook her head.

"Suit yourself," I said, taking the bottle from Buck. I took a few good pulls off it, then asked, "Wanna go play some snooker?" There was a pool table in Buck's living room, but ya had to be careful; when people were too drunk to get upstairs, they'd screw on top of it.

She shook her head again. "I'm sorry, Dallas. It's been a long day and I just wanna rest."

"All right." I set my beer down. "I'll take ya upstairs."

I got in front of Glenda and started elbowing a path through the bar. It took a few minutes to get to the bottom of the stairs.

"After you," I said, holding my arm out. She started up the stairs and I followed a couple steps behind, admiring the view. "Shake it, don't break it."

It was even louder upstairs than it was in the bar. Besides the country music, there was a lot of moaning and shouting.

"Let's go find you an empty room, doll," I said.

"Isn't this lovely?" Glenda said quietly, stepping over some guy passed out in the hallway.

I opened one of the doors and stuck my head in. Nobody was in the room, thank God. I let Glenda go in first, then I turned on the tiny lamp.

"Say hello to your home away from home."

I watched her look the room over. The paint and wallpaper were peeling, there was a poster of Hank Williams next to the bed, and the place had never been dusted. There was a little pile of underwear, mostly girls', on the floor around the bed. Glenda dropped her suitcase.

"I'm sleeping in my clothes," she announced.

"Hey, you shut your mouth." I said sharply. "Merril's lettin' ya crash here for nothin', y'know, princess."

"I'm sorry."

"Ya should be."

Glenda moved her suitcase over by the dresser. She pulled some pins out of her hair; brown curls dipped over her shoulders. She set the pins on top of the dresser.

"I think I'm gonna stay up here for a while," I said. I sat down with my back against the door. "Make sure nobody comes in and tries anything."

She smiled at me. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

Glenda walked over to the bed and peeled the blanket back. The mattress squeaked as she sat on it. She untied her shoes and slipped them off. I'm not even a foot guy, but I liked her tiny feet and cute toes. She swung her legs up onto the bed.

By then, I was buzzed and feelin' pretty frisky. I wondered if she'd wanna make out or maybe fool around a little. I stood up.

"I get a good-night kiss?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I guess."

"All right, honey. Lay down so I can put the blanket on." She did. Man, this was gonna be easy. I turned off the lamp. "Night, Glenda."

"Night, Dallas," she said, yawning.

I leaned down and put my lips to hers. They were nice and soft. I kissed her; she kissed back. We started to kiss harder, but before things went any further, Glenda's eyes shut. I pulled away. She rolled over on her side, her breathing even. I watched her sleep for a few minutes, then went back to sitting against the door. A couple hours later, I fell asleep too.


	9. Chapter 9: The Next Day

**A/N: Sorry about my erratic updating habits. College has been killing me lately what with midterms and my new job with the yearbook. I'll try to update more frequently.**

(Glenda's POV)

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Hank Williams, staring down at me from a poster. I sleepily wondered where the hell I was. The bed creaked loudly as I rolled over onto my other side. Dallas Winston was standing in front of the open window, blowing smoke from his cigarette out of it. He turned his head, smirking a little.

"Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty." he said coolly.

Memories flooded back. I was visiting Steve in Tulsa...we went to a drag race...he dropped me off at Buck's road house to spend the night... Dallas showed me up to my room; he'd seemed a little drunk. Out of nowhere, we started making out on the bed and I fell asleep right in the middle of it. How long had he stuck around after that? Or did he even leave?

"You sleep all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Hey, is there a shower here I could use?"

He nodded. "Follow me, honey."

I grabbed my suitcase and vanity case from the floor. We padded down a dingy, dark hallway. The road house was eeriely quiet; I guessed we were the only ones awake. Dallas nudged open a door, revealing a bathroom about the size of a desk. Some guy was passed out on the floor; Dallas dragged him out by his shirt, closing the door behind them. I locked the bathroom door before stripping off my clothes. I grabbed some soap and shampoo out of my vanity case, then turned on the hot water.

As I stepped into the shower, I made a mental note to tell my parents I stayed at a motel. I highly doubt they'd approve of Steve's arrangements, especially Dallas staying in my room all night. I closed my eyes and started shampooing my hair. Somehow, my mind strayed to necking with Dallas; I could almost see his lips coming toward mine, smell the cigarettes and beer on his breath, and feel his hand on my thigh. I'm still not sure what came over me; I'm not the kind of girl who gets busy with someone she barely knows. I chalked it up to a lapse in judgment due to being overtired.

When my hair was rinsed, I stepped out of the shower and looked through my suitcase for a change of clothes. I decided to save my hot-pink polka-dotted sundress for the trip home, then put on a lavendar summer blouse and a pair of denim capri pants. I wiped the steam off the mirror, brushed out my hair, and clipped two sections behind my ears with bobby pins. I shoved my feet in my sneakers before exiting the bathroom with my bags.

Dallas was standing in the hall waiting for me, the guy neither of us knew lay facedown on the floor. I signaled for Dallas to wait a minute while I put my luggage back in my room. When I came back out, I asked, "Is there a phone here?"

"Yeah. There's a, uh, payphone by the bar." he answered.

I started down the stairs, Dallas following.

"You wanna go out for some breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah, sounds good. Just as soon as I call my parents and let 'em know I got here in one piece," I said.

At the bottom of the stairs, I immediately spotted the phone and headed for it. I dropped some coins in the slot and dialed my phone number. I tapped my fingers on top of the phone as it rang, waiting for someone to pick up.

"_Hello?_" My dad's voice sounded groggy.

"Hi, Dad, it's Glenda." I said.

"_Is everything okay, princess?" _he wanted to know.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dad, I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday when I got in," I apologized. "It's just Steve ended up taking me to a drag race and I didn't get back to my motel room until it was really late. Is Mom up yet?"

I didn't figure she would be; she liked to sleep in on weekends because she didn't have to go to the junior high. I glanced over my shoulder at Dallas; he yawned, folded his arms, and stared at me impatiently.

"_No, __but I'll tell her you called and you're safe with Steve._" I heard a loud bark in the background. "_Plato, shut up! I know you're hungry; I'm comin'. Listen, I gotta feed the dog before he wakes up Phoebe and she turns him into a rug." _Mom's not exactly Plato's biggest fan; I'm surprised she even let me keep him, to tell you the truth. "_I love you, princess._"

"And I love you, Dad. Tell Mom I love her too."

"_I will._" Dad promised.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. G'bye." I hung up.

Now Dallas was twirling a key ring around his finger. "C'mon, Buck said we could use his T-Bird."


	10. Chapter 10: Mom's Cinnamon Rolls

(Ponyboy's POV)

Mornings in my house are never really peaceful, but Saturday mornings are always a special kind of crazy. Two-Bit usually barges in bright and early, hungover or still soused from whatever party he was at Friday night, and starts blasting Mickey Mouse from the TV. If he's sober enough, he'll try to get somebody to wrestle with him. (I keep telling him he should've joined the wrestling team at school). Then Steve walks in the door and turns on the radio as loud as it goes. And that's about when Darry comes out of his room and hollers at us for waking him up. We never mean to, though; it just happens.

This Saturday morning was different. Darry was still in bed 'cause he had the day off, but Two-Bit and Steve weren't here makin' a racket. Soda was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I was sitting in Darry's chair reading _The Call of the Wild _and Johnny was asleep on the sofa. I'd just read up to the part about Buck learning to enjoy being a sled dog when I heard a loud crash. Johnny's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking wildly around.

"It's okay, Johnny," I reassured him. "Soda just dropped a pan or somethin'. You can go back to sleep."

I set my book down on the arm of the chair and stood up. I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of chocolate milk and to see what Soda was up to. He greeted me with his usual reckless grin.

"Mornin', Pony." he said.

"Mornin', Sodapop." I got a better look at him and saw he was covered in flour. "What happened to you?"

"Mom sure made these look easy," he said with a sigh.

"Made what look easy?" I asked.

"Well, after I got home from the race last night, I was kinda hungry." That didn't surprise me; Darry always says Soda was born with a bottomless pit instead of a stomach. "So I was lookin' through the cabinets for a snack and I accidentally knocked over Mom's little recipe file. I started pickin' up all the little cards and y'know what I found?" He looked really excited.

"I don't know. What?"

"Mom's recipe for cinnamon rolls!"

Glory, just thinkin' about those was enough to make my mouth water. Our mom was a really good cook anyway, but her special talent was baking. She'd bake cinnamon rolls every so often as a treat, like if it was a holiday or somebody's birthday or one of us got a good report card. I don't remember when we had 'em last, but I do remember how they tasted: thick and chewy with plenty of cinnamon filling and extra icing.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" I asked, eyeing the mess of mixing bowls and spilled ingredients on the counter.

"Nah, it's okay, Ponyboy." he said.

I watched as Soda put the rolls on a cookie sheet and slid the sheet in the oven. Then I poured myself some chocolate milk and went back to the living room, hoping this would turn out better than Soda's cooking usually did. Johnny was awake now, sitting up on the sofa. We decided to play cards until breakfast was ready. I'd just lost about twenty hands in a row when I heard a car engine right in front of our house. Johnny peeked out the window.

"Dally's here," he announced.

The next thing I heard was Dally thumping his way up our porch, followed by the squeak-slam of the storm door. I looked over my shoulder and saw Dally with a girl I didn't recognize. She was dressed like a greasy girl, but her face wasn't plastered with makeup. Her long hair was dark brown, curly, and messy. She was built just like Johnny, but there was a cool confidence in the way she carried herself. That reminded me of Steve. The chick kinda looked like him around the eyes too.

"What's up?" Dallas greeted. He crossed to the couch, put Johnny in a playful headlock, and mussed up his hair. "How you doin', Johnnycake?" He looked at the girl, then tipped his head toward the other open seat. "Go on, make yourself at home, honey."

The girl sat down. Her gaze traveled to me and a slight smile crossed her lips, "I bet you don't remember me." she said. "I'm Glenda, Steve's cousin."

"Boy howdy, you sure look different," I said. Five years had done her a whole lot of favors.

"So do you," said Glenda. "Last time I was here, you were just a scrawny little squirt." Gee, thanks. "How old are you now?"

"Thirteen," I replied.

She nodded, then sniffed the air. "Glory, somethin' smells good." she sighed.

"You said it, dollface," agreed Dally. "God, I'm fu--" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Sorry. I mean, uh, I'm starvin', man."

I looked sideways at Johnny, trying to cock one eyebrow the way Two-Bit does. I'd never heard Dally apologize for swearing, well, almost swearing. Normally, he'd laugh in your face if the way he talked seemed to bother you, that or he'd just start spouting off every cuss word he knows. And believe me, Dally knows a lot of 'em.

Right about then, Darry came out of his bedroom, wearin' his old football jersey and a pair of gym shorts. Tryin' to stay cool, I guess, 'cause the house was boiling. He seemed to know who Glenda was right away and a rare smile crossed his lips.

"Well, look at you," he said. "You're all grown up now." He walked over to the couch to give her a hug. "How've ya been, Little Darlin'?"

Little Darlin' is what Darry called Glenda the last time she visited. I don't know if he started that 'cause it sounded nicer than Munchkin or 'cause Glenda looks younger than she really is. Personally, I think it started 'cause Darry's voice had just gone deep and he thought it made him sounded like Elvis.

"I've been fine," Glenda answered. "What about you, Darry?"

He shrugged. "Pretty good, considering."

Glenda nodded slowly and didn't ask any questions. Steve must've told her about our parents and everything.

Soda stuck his head out the kitchen doorway. "Breakfast's ready!" he called.

We all left the living room and headed for table. Soda set down a big platter of cinnamon rolls; he let Glenda, Johnny, and me get first pick before everybody else grabbed theirs. I bit into mine. It was still hot and burned my tongue a little bit. I chewed it thoughtfully. Not as good as Mom's, but still really tasty. Darry brought out the chocolate milk for everybody who wasn't having coffee, then we sat around, quietly enjoying our breakfast.


End file.
